


The Rooftop Club

by takethembystorm



Series: Treat Me Like a Princess [4]
Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Gen, Menstruation, i needed something simple and fluffy, this felt good to write
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-20
Updated: 2017-07-18
Packaged: 2018-09-18 19:23:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9399287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/takethembystorm/pseuds/takethembystorm
Summary: Periods are bad enough.  When it's three-fourths of Paris's Protectors on theirs all at the same time, it becomes rather more of an issue.Fortunately, there's the ever-dependable Chat Noir to help, in whatever little ways he can.





	1. Special Deliveries

**Author's Note:**

> Idea shamelessly stolen from [loosescrewslefty](loosescrewslefty.tumblr.com), who always has better ideas than I do. Takes place after [_Busboy_](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7300654).

An average of around two homicides a day happens in Paris.

At a glance, it would have seemed that Paris had more than fulfilled its quota for the day.

Three figures lay sprawled on the top of the Eiffel Tower, one on flat on her stomach, the other on her back with an arm dangling limply off of a ledge, dull eyes gazing sightlessly up at the starry night sky, the third slumped against a convenient wall.

“What’s taking him so long,” one finally growls.  “He’s been gone for half an hour now.”

“Probably got held up by the paparazzi,” Ladybug says.  “They’ve been out for blood ever since that jackass from Closer started spreading rumors about how Chat was building his personal harem of underage schoolgirls.”

“Still?” Abeille says.  “I thought the interview you and Chat did for the Ladyblog put that to rest.”

“It just stopped all the obvious shouting and moral panic,” Volpina says.  She rolls off of the ledge and lands on hands and knees next to where Abeille sits against a wall, groaning as she stands and stretches.  “Didn’t stop the more persistent ones from trying to snap pics of something compromising.”

“He wears all black,” Abeille complains.  “How hard could it be to avoid them?”

“Black shows up,” Ladybug points out.  “It’s not like it’s pitch black out there, he stands out against that.”

“Come on, we’re superheroes,” Volpina says.  She flops onto her back.  “How hard could it be to outrun a bunch of losers with cameras?”

Abeille snorts.  “You certainly weren’t too fast yesterday when that goop monster thing got me,” she says waspishly, tucking a pale golden bang behind her ear.

“I started my period a day early and didn’t get a lot of sleep, so sue me,” Volpina snaps.

“So did I, and you don’t see me complaining about it—”

“Can the both of you please just stop,” Ladybug says.  “We all get it, yesterday sucked for all of us, all our uteri decided to sabotage us—”

“Wait,” Abeille says, “you too?”

“Yeah,” Ladybug says.

Volpina chuckles darkly.  “Well, at least we’re all suffering together, then,” she says.  “Misery loves company.”

“No kidding,” Chat says.  He clambers up and hops lightly up over the railing before he sits cross-legged across from the three of them, rummaging in the messenger bag slung at his hip.  “Sorry I’m late, I had to make a stop.”

“A stop?” Abeille says.  She pouts at him as he pulls a flask the size of his head from the bag and tosses it underhand to Ladybug.

“It’s cocoa,” Chat says as she unscrews the top and takes a cautious sniff.  “Nutmeg and cinnamon—uh, none of you are allergic, oh, good, all right.”

“Come on, what’s more important than us, we’re dying here,” Abeille continues.

“I was going to get to that,” Chat says, “catch.”  He fishes a brick of foil-wrapped dark chocolate from the bag and tosses it to Abeille, who examines the label.

“Oh, come on,” she complains, rolling her eyes as she peels away a corner of the foil and breaks off a chunk.  “You couldn’t have put it off?  We’re your comrades-in-arms here.”

“No, I couldn’t,” Chat counters gently.  He pulls a pair of rattling bottles, one of Tylenol and one of generic ibuprofen, from his bag and sets them by his side.  “I have a friend who usually starts her period around this time and I couldn’t stop by her place last night, so while I was out I dropped by to make sure that she was all right.  I mean, she wasn’t there, but I just needed to check up on her.”

“Pass the Advil, please,” Volpina says.  “Someone special, _hm?”  
_

Chat rolls his eyes as Volpina waggles her eyebrows at him.  “I am not going to dignify that with a response.”

“Oh, come on,” Volpina says, flicking the top off of the bottle with a thumb and tapping out a pill into her palm.  She tosses it at her mouth.

Abeille sniggers as the pill misses her open mouth and bounces off of her nose instead.  Volpina slugs her lightly on a shoulder.

“No, but seriously,” Volpina says, fishing out another pill and swallowing it dry.  “Who is she?  I mean, it’s not like many girls can expect a visit from Chat Noir of all people this late at night.  You two close?”

Chat shrugs.  “I’d like to think that we’re friends,” he says.

Volpina blinks at him.  “Chat,” she says slowly, “are you _pining_ after someone?”

“Volpina, stop it,” Ladybug sighs.  She accepts the bottle of Tylenol and washes down two pills with a swallow of steaming cocoa before exchanging it for the bar of chocolate.  “It’s his business, he’ll talk about it if he wants.”

“It’s fine, my Lady,” Chat says.  “No, I’m not.  But the two of us got off to a bad start and I wanted to try to make that up for her, to try to, y’know—”

“Look, did you explain the situation to her?” Abeille says.  Three heads swivel towards her.  “I mean, whatever you did that ticked her off in the first place?”

“I, uh, I tried,” Chat says.

Abeille rolls her eyes skyward with an air of long-borne suffering.  “Then if she’s anyone worth your time she’ll have forgiven you already.  You can’t buy her off by just waiting on her hand and foot like you’re some sort of manservant, she’s just taking advantage of you then.”

“It’s not like that,” Chat says.  “I mean, I don’t think it is.”

“Really.”

“Yes,” Chat says.  “She’s a good person, she wouldn’t do that to someone.”

“You sure?”  Abeille takes a sip of cocoa.

“Yes,” Chat insists, “I know her from school, she’s kind and sweet and she cares a lot about people, she’s not the sort to do something like that.”

Volpina lets out a high-pitched squeal only slightly muffled by the fists pressed to her mouth.  “You like her!” she says.  “You have a _crush_ on her, oh, you got to tell me who this is, Mama Volpy is going to have the two of you making out in ten minutes flat—”

“Guys,” Ladybug says, her voice utterly flat.

The platform quiets.

“Leave him alone,” she continues.  “That’s his business, not ours.  Now, come on.  We’ve still got patrol to take care of.”

* * *

She stares at the tiny wicker basket on her terrace, trying to remember when she’d actually gotten used to this.

Eventually she leans down to pick it up and slips through her skylight.  She unravels her transformation with the familiar flare of pink-white light and looks at the contents of the basket.

A thermos of—she unscrews the top and takes a sniff—now-lukewarm hot cocoa, with nutmeg and cinnamon and a ziplock baggie of mini marshmallows sitting next to it; a bar of her favorite dark chocolate with almonds and sea salt, easily the size of her head; a DVD copy of _Amelie_ , she’d been looking forward to watching that; a half-dozen of those snap-for-instant-heat hand warmer pack things.

She sits on the edge of her bed and looks at the care package for a while.  She sighs.

Oh, fuck it, she wasn’t going to be getting any sleep tonight with the cramps as bad as they were.

She clambers down to her floor, fishes out a pair of small-gauge knitting needles and a skein of soft black yarn, and sets to work.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marinette starts returning some favors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to [clairelutra](http://clairelutra.tumblr.com/) for the original prompt.

Marinette jerks awake and just barely keeps from skewering herself through the thigh with one of her knitting needles as a quiet argument conducted in low whispers erupts on her terrace.  A moment later the night goes silent again, and someone reaches out and taps out a familiar _rap rap-rap rap rap_.

“Come in,” she says blearily, scrubbing at her eyes.  She drops her knitting to the side and stretches, hearing the pop and crackle of stiff joints.  “Come in, Chat.”

More scuffling and a further whispered argument; then her skylight creaks open—she really needs to get some oil for those hinges—and a mop of blond hair, upside down, descends into her room.

Marinette squints.  The hair—the light is bad, mostly just reflected from streetlamps or interrupted moonlight coming in through gaps in her curtains, but it’s longer and paler and neater than she’s expecting.

Abeille’s scowl greets Marinette as she reaches over and flicks on her bedside lamp.

“Abeille?” Marinette says.

“Obviously.”

Marinette stares at the yellow-and-black-themed superheroine for a few seconds while her tired brain tries to piece together something coherent to say.  “Why are you here?” she manages.

“She’s my chaperone,” Chat says, his disembodied voice carrying a flat, resigned edge to it.

Marinette smiles.  Chat would be sitting cross-legged on her terrace right now, his chin perched on the heel of his palm, his fingers drumming against his cheekbone in that way he did whenever he’d lost an argument but had given up on trying to convince someone—usually her—otherwise.

Abeille’s eyes narrow.  She makes a soft, brusque noise somewhere back in her throat.

“Come in,” Marinette says.

Abeille’s head disappears and after a second she descends, seating herself on the edge of the bed, glowering steadily at Marinette.  Chat follows, rolling his eyes and flashing a smile at Marinette as he settles himself between them.

“So,” Marinette says, her gaze flickering between her two guests before it settles on the decidedly less hostile one.  “What’s up?  You’re two days early.”

“Abeille’s been needling me,” Chat says.  “She—“ he indicates Abeille, who crosses her arms tighter across her chest and scowls more fiercely, with a tilt of his head “—the mystery girl I was seeing to was.  And what’s with that cold reception, I can’t visit my biggest fan on short notice?”

“Well, any of the Protectors of Paris are welcome here,” Marinette says. “But _you,_ Tomcat—you need an appointment.  Otherwise who knows what mischief you’ll get up to?”

Chat holds a hand to his heart.  “Me, Princess?  I’m a perfect angel of a guest.”

Abeille transfers her glare to Chat, whose smile widens in response. Her scowl deepens, her brows knit together more tightly in her disapproval, and Chat smiles harder.  His amusement merely meets with further disapproval from her, until Chat is smiling toothily ear-to-ear, his grin gleaming in the sparse moonlight filtering in through the still-open skylight, and Abeille’s brows are almost meeting.

“And now that you know who Mystery Girl is,” Chat says to Abeille, “do I still need a chaperone, or can she and I talk without supervision?”

Abeille glowers at Chat, then at Marinette.  Then, moving slowly, she climbs out of the room and takes off, the _bzzzzzz_ of her wings fading into the distance.

“Well, that wasn’t at all awkward,” Chat says.  “Sorry about that, Princess.  I sorta mentioned you to her and Rena and Ladybug last month and I figured that the easiest way to get her to stop bugging me about you was to just show her.”

“No, it’s not—it’s no problem,” Marinette says, fighting down another yawn and failing.

Chat’s smile fades.  “I’m sorry for waking you,” he says.  “I wouldn’t be here if Abeille didn’t insist.  I’ll go if you want to get back to sleep.”

“No, if you’re here, then you might as well make yourself useful,” Marinette says, flapping a hand at him as her other covers another yawn.  “I needed to make some measurements in any case.”

“Uh,” Chat says after a moment’s silence.  “For what?”

Marinette holds up her knitting, a fine mesh of black wool a third of a meter on either side.

“Still not getting it,” Chat says, as politely as he can manage.

Marinette gives him a flat look and drops the bundle of wool and metal to her side again.  “I’m making you a sweater.  I need to know your chest size and a few other things, or it won’t fit and I’ll have wasted like, three or four months.”

Chat looks politely at her for a second, then says, “Thank you, but why are you doing this?”

Marinette reaches up and massages the back of her neck with her free hand.  “Look, Chat, you’ve been coming by pretty regularly for a while now and you’ve never asked for anything in return—“

“Marinette, don’t give me that,” Chat says, “you’re my friend—“

“And friends do nice things for each other,” Marinette says.  “And I can’t help but think that I’ve been more on the receiving end than on the giving end recently.”

“—and what I was about to say is that there’s no need for repayment,” Chat continues.  “Because—“

“It isn’t repayment,” Marinette says.  “It’s me, doing a nice thing, for you.”  She rolls her neck around, wincing as muscles stiffened by her sleeping position are stretched.  “So how about we stop arguing about the merits about me doing this for you and you get your leather-clad ass downstairs so I can get your measurements.”

Chat scoots himself forward and places his hands on Marinette’s shoulders, then, when she cocks her head quizzically at him, turns her around so that her back is to him.

“How about you stop doing that first,” Chat says.  His hands move up from her shoulders until they’re over the back of her neck, thumbs pointing upwards, parallel with her spine.

“Uh, what are you doing, Chat?”

He begins to ripple his fingers, applying gentle pressure to the muscles there in a wave motion.  Marinette jumps, and Chat draws his hands away.

“Oh, sorry,” he says.  “I should’ve asked, I’m sorry.”

“No, no, it’s okay,” Marinette says.  “Just a little unexpected.”

“Thank you,” she adds as Chat starts again.

“Slept funny?” Chat says.

“Yeah,” Marinette says.  “Had a few long days recently.”  And nights, but he didn’t need to know that.

“I know how it is,” Chat says.

“Can you do my shoulders and back too?” Marinette says.  “I was, uh, working out earlier this week and kinda tweaked something.”

“Sure.  Lie down.”

“Give me room.”

Marinette stretches out face-down on her bed as Chat moves aside, then repositions his hands below her right shoulder blade, pushing in small circles with his thumbs, moving gently, working out the knots and easing out the stiffness as she directs him to each spot in turn, the languid motion drawing soft noises of pleasure from her.

Marinette waves him off after ten minutes of this treatment and sits up.

“All right, all right,” she says.  She rolls her neck again, the motion freer, the ache not totally gone but much reduced.  “Enough pampering for now.”

“For now?” Chat says.  “Usually you’re more high-maintenance than that, Princess.”

“Hush.”  Marinette crawls past Chat on hands and knees to her ladder, then descends to her floor. Chat follows close behind.  “I still need your measurements and as much as I appreciate the friendly massage, I’d also like to get some actual sleep tonight.”

“Oh.  Ah. Sorry about that.”

Marinette looks up from where she’s rummaging, a pencil held between her teeth and a measuring tape in her hand.  “What?  Oh, don’t worry about it, Abeille made you.”

“Still, I could’ve—“

“ _Hush._ ”  Marinette flicks on a light and walks back.  “Arms up.  Breathe in.”

Chat complies, and Marinette quickly wraps the tape around his chest, just below his arms, then snaps it taut.  She takes a few other measurements along the length of his arm and around his neck and a few other places, muttering numbers under her breath, then walks back to her desk and scribbles for a few minutes, making a rough sketch and adding in figures.

Chat walks up behind her.  “Princess,” he says.  “Really. If you want me to go, I’ll go.  I get it, it’s past midnight and I’d rather be in my bed too if it weren’t my turn to go on patrol tonight.”

Marinette finishes her sketch and sets her pencil down with a _clack._  She laces her fingers together, arching upwards in a long stretch, accompanied by a yawn.

“Bed sounds good,” Marinette says.  She turns to face Chat.  “And yeah, you should be in yours, and finishing up patrol so that you can get there sooner.”  She walks past him, heading for the ladder, Chat trailing in her wake.

“See you in a couple days?” Chat says as Marinette helps him onto her bed.

“Of course,” Marinette says.  She leans forwards and hugs him, then holds him back out at arms-length.  “And to address what you said a minute ago, yes, I do want you to go.  But not because I don’t enjoy having you around.”

Chat smiles.  “Of course you enjoy having me around, I spoil you constantly.”

Marinette gestures towards her knitting.  “And hopefully I’ll be able to pay you back a little bit of that soon.” She yawns again.  “Now get going, Chat.”

“See you in a couple days, Princess.”  He returns her hug, then vanishes through her skylight and closes it behind him.


End file.
